Equine Therapy

I was very busy this week, both at work and with stuff for the boys, and the work stuff was not very good. A very stressful situation. I only got down to the barn for a few minutes on Sunday and then again on Wednesday before getting out there this morning. Skye still has a touch of the rain rot on her legs, and is still lame. Hopefully I will be able to connect with a vet this coming week. So all in all, the week was stressful, and worrying about her made it a little worse, making me wonder why I took on horse ownership when I had a good deal with riding my buddy Goliath at the Greenway every weekend.

The one, the only, Goliath. In repose. Yes, his eyes are closed.

But this morning reminded me why I wanted a horse of my own so much. I love being able to go to the barn and have a reason to be there, and I love going to my own locker and getting my own halter and lead line. I love walking into the pasture and having Skye turn away from the other horses and walk toward me. It was only weeks ago that she would balk on the way in with me and now it's not unusual for her to meet me at the gate if she sees my van coming in. (So smart, my girl is. Says Yoda.)

Today I took her in the round pen right after getting her and to see if she was still limping. She nows walks perfectly and waits to be told to trot, so I'm pleased with that. She was actually a little reluctant to trot this time, and sure enough she is still limping a little. So no riding again today. I walked her in both directions, and we practiced our "landings" where she comes to a stop but doesn't come in. I remembered to break eye contact and tilt my head down when telling her to stop, so of course she stopped perfectly each time. So, the sad assumption should be that if she's not doing something right, it's probably because I'm not doing it right. Shocking. Not.

Then I took her to a grooming bay and groomed her, and I think she is finally getting to relax and enjoy it.  Everyone else there was riding in the ring, so I sang to her while I combed her mane, forelock and tail, and unlike some others in my life who shall remain nameless, she didn't seem to mind at all that I don't sound a thing like Adele. When I was finished, and put boo boo goo on her cuts (there is apparently still some tussling over primacy in the pasture), I just stood with her rubbing her forehead. She let out a big sigh, and we rested our foreheads together for a long time. In the face of this terrible week, the simple act of caring for her and getting that feeling of companionship from her did more for me than the coffee, the beer and the escapist reading I've been doing all week. I am the Queen of Guilt, but even I have to admit that feeling guilty about having this horse is foolish.   And that is why I have a horse of my own.

I put her back in her pasture and this is the look she gives me.

A closeup of my owner

And so I am owned by my horse.

A guy at the barn was bringing in the newest rescue horse, so she and I watched. Last Friday morning, a grey paint gelding was headed for the slaughter sale when some folks at the barn got the call that a nice horse was going to auction from a case of extreme bad luck. So these three wonderful women got together the money to buy him (I think it was $250), took a trailer up to Asheville and brought him home to all of us. Although he is a gaited horse (we suspect  Tennessee Walker), he can jump right out of a four foot fence from almost a standstill, so they named him Reebok (after the antelope, not the shoe).  He is small but well-muscled, with a kind eye and a sweet temperament. I am so happy for him. And for us. His happy ending helped keep my week in perspective too. I keep forgetting to get a photo of him when I am close to him, as I find it necessary to love on him with both hands. Also shocking.

And just one more pic of some rescues. Because I love them too.

Some serious dinky action